


Secret Santa

by Mysteryred



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9119857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysteryred/pseuds/Mysteryred
Summary: Even parts of Christmas are about letting go.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written for TMNT flashfic theme 007: Festive. This one shot is rated T, and the boys are around seven. I tend to blend 2012 and 2014 verses, following 2012 back story while pulling select elements from 2014.

A/N: Written for TMNT flashfic theme 007: Festive. This one shot is rated T, and the boys are around seven. I tend to blend 2012 and 2014 verses, following 2012 back story while pulling select elements from 2014.

The tree was a discard. A two foot, bald in the back, needles shedding off everywhere, cast off that he'd found by a dumpster while scavenging. He frowned at the frail thing while Donatello wound a string of mismatched lights around it. The branches were so tired they sagged beneath the weight. But his son was determined, his tongue peeking out one corner of his mouth as he tucked the plug around the back of the trunk.

"That should do it." His young son clapped his hands together as if dusting them off. He looked at his father ready to say something else when another of his sons began to cough.

Splinter pulled the blanket up closer around his youngest son's shoulder. "Are you alright, Michelangelo?"

The boy’s normally bright blue eyes were dim, and his lightly pebbled skin damp with fever. "I wanted to decorate the tree." His lower lip jutted out a bit in a pout.

"You may. Do you want to hang the ornament you made?" Splinter pointed a furry claw to where Leonardo held a small tin filled with both homemade and salvaged decorations. His eldest handed one to Donatello then held out a tiny circular cutout to Michelangelo.

His youngest was snuggled up to his side as they'd chosen to gather together around the tree for Christmas Eve. Last year Splinter had caught them with their faces pressed to a drainage grate trying to see the Christmas lights in the city above. This year Michelangelo was too ill, and the sewers bitter cold from the snow covering the streets. They huddled together as much for warmth as anything, but it was pleasant to watch the lights with his children while doing so.

Michelangelo got slowly to his feet, dragging his tattered orange plaid blanket with him as he hung his ornament mid way up the small tree. He sniffled and coughed again, already making his way back to Splinter's side, refusing Leonardo when he offered him a second ornament to hang.

"We only had one cookie left." Raphael shuffled by, coming alongside Leonardo to place an empty chipped plate beside the tree. He held up a plastic cup. "We ain't got milk. Do you think Santa drinks water?"

Splinter's ears lowered a bit. Milk was something of a luxury to them. If he was lucky they'd come across a close dated or recently expired gallon. But he hadn't been so lucky as of late. He forced a smile, determined not to make his young sons aware of their struggle. "Everyone drinks water, Raphael. I am certain it will be a nice break from milk."

Leonardo stared at the empty plate. "If there was one cookie left why isn't it on the plate?"

Splinter's gaze shifted from the plate, to his eldest son's furrowed brow to the white ring of powder around Raphael's mouth. He lowered his head and cleared his throat. "Ahem. Perhaps Mr. Claus would like a peanut butter sandwich instead?"

"Did you eat Santa's cookie?" Leonardo jabbed a finger in Raphael's plastron.

"It wasn't even a real cookie. It was a donut. It don't count." Raph argued, poking him back.

"Both are sweet, and a dessert. I think it's a fine substitute." Donatello waved them off, his attention shifting to a darkened bulb in the middle of the strand. He began fidgeting with it while his brother's continued to argue.

"It does too, count!" Leonardo swiped Raphael's hand away. "Now he won't come, because you ate his cookie!"

"Donut." Raphael crossed his arms and scowled. "And he will too." He softened ever so slightly as his green eyes shifted towards Splinter. "He'll still come, won't he?"

Michelangelo scrambled upright. "He's got to come! We've been good all year and he comes for all the good kids." His feverish eyes filled as he searched Splinter's face. "We've been good. Right?"

Splinter's ears dropped again. He debated on explaining what a Santa was, then decided they seemed to believe enough to be children another year. They had already grown so much in their seven years that he knew it wouldn't be much longer. Donatello already questioned him diligently on the matter. Splinter sighed. He would most likely be the first. But not yet. Just one more year.

He smiled at his powder-lipped son. "Raphael, can you make a peanut butter sandwich for when our guest arrives?"

"On it." Raphael mumbled as he stomped toward the kitchen.

"Yes! I knew it! I knew he'd co-" Michelangelo broke into another coughing fit.

"I will get him some water, Father," Leonardo offered, reaching out a hand to pat his little brother on his shell.

"Thanks, Leo," Michelangelo croaked. He lowered his head against Splinter's robed chest, his breathing raspy in a way that worried the old rat. But chicken broth and hot compresses were the best he could do.

"I got it!" Donatello announced, pointing to the now twinkling white bulb.

Splinter looked at the tree, random lights blinking on and off while some burned steady. "Very good, my son. Now, perhaps you can sit and enjoy your hard work."

Donatello grabbed his purple fleece blanket and sat beside Michelangelo.   
"I like your ornament, Mikey. What'd you draw on it?"

Michelangelo smiled. "It's pretty cool, isn't it? I drew what I wanted for Christmas on one side, and our family on the other."

He'd often advised his sons to keep an open mind about Christmas presents. It wasn't as if there was a lot at his disposal. He'd managed some very special gifts this year, but he hesitated to look closer at Michelangelo's wish. He hated to disappoint them, yet he needed them to be realistic at the same time.

A child should be free to wish and dream, shouldn't they? To enjoy the few years of innocence life may grant them. Besides, with them in his life, he as an old rat, felt young again, alive with their vibrant spirits surrounding him. And yet too often he also felt very, very tired at the same time.

"Here's your water, Mikey." Leo held the cup out to him, then picked up his faux wool blue blanket and sat beside Splinter.

The rat didn't need to count heads, and the odd quiet concerned him. "Leonardo, does Raphael need help with Mr. Claus's snack?"

When his eldest son didn't answer Splinter looked down at the boy’s face. His eyes were closed but the too quick rise and fall of his plastron told Splinter he wasn't sleeping. "Leonardo? Where is your brother?"

His son looked up at him from his pallet on the floor. "In the kitchen. The sandwich is made. He's just sitting at the table, staring at it."

Splinter took a slow deep breath. Some nights were longer than others. Between a sick normally rambunctious child, an overly intelligent one, a perfectionist, and his fire-tempered, blatantly honest son, well, he was exhausted. And he still had to put out their gifts.

"I will go check on him." Splinter gently guided Michelangelo to sit upright, then stood.

He was about to make his way toward the kitchen when his youngest son announced, "It needs a star."

Splinter looked from the boy to the top of the tree and back.

"There at the top. It needs a star." Michelangelo pointed a finger towards the tree.

Splinter stroked the long fur beneath his chin. "I believe I know just the thing." He held up a clawed finger. "But first I must check on Raphael."

He made his way to the kitchen, finding his son exactly as Leonardo had described, sitting at the table with his chin resting on the back of his folded arms. He didn't look up as Splinter took the seat beside him.  
"Raphael? What troubles you?"

The boy didn't answer right away. But Splinter was prepared to wait. It could be difficult for Raphael to pick the right words for what he wanted to say, and too often he didn't think about them, instead speaking whatever crossed his mind. So perhaps it was a good thing that he was taking his time now.

Raphael kept his eyes on the plate before him as he answered. "I'm hungry. An’ I wanna eat the sandwich."

The corners of Splinter's mouth tipped up. "Then eat the sandwich, and make Mr. Claus another."

"There ain't no more bread." Raphael's head swiveled toward the empty bag on the counter.

"I see." Splinter nudged the plate toward his son. "Eat the sandwich, Raphael. It is far more important to Santa that you not be hungry. There is still a slice of cheese in the refrigerator. That should make him quite happy."

Raphael sighed. "Dad, I know there ain't a Santa."

Splinter's heart sank a bit. He'd braced for this moment, for this first loss of innocence. Their lives were hard and his children smart. He was fooling himself in thinking they couldn't see how little they had compared to the humans above, especially when he constantly stressed that they keep themselves hidden.

He inhaled deep and exhaled out his sadness. He wouldn't have as long as he hoped with their childhood fantasies, but then there was also an opportunity with Raphael's revelation. "Are you sure there is no Santa Claus, Raphael?"

"I'm sure." Raphael's voice was unusually low. He actually cracked a sly grin as he glanced at his father. "But it sure explains why Santa would really like that last slice of cheese."

Splinter smiled as he folded his hands together before him. "Raphael, Santa Claus is real. You see, I am your Santa. But there are many Santa's everywhere, and all of the time. A Santa is someone who sees the opportunity to do something for someone else without taking credit for it."

Raphael's brow furrowed. "Why would someone do that?"

Splinter's smile broadened. "Perhaps you would like to be a Santa too, then you will know."

His son's mouth scrunched to one side then the other. "Okay. What do I do?"

"First, you should know that being a Santa is a secret. We will tell your brothers when the time is right. Do you understand?"

Raphael shrugged. "Sure. I guess."

"Very good. Now eat your sandwich, put the cheese on the plate and come join us by the tree." Splinter pat his green eyed son's carapace, then left him to his thoughts and his food.

Before returning to his other three sons he stopped by his room, uncovering the small ornate box that held a few reminders of his past life. He found the desired item and tucked it in his pocket. The timing couldn't have been better. He smiled as he reclaimed his seat next to Michelangelo.

After a few moments of enjoying the multicolored lights, the scent of pine, and his boys’ steady breathing, his gaze drifted toward the circular construction-paper cutout scraping the floor as it dangled from a bowed branch. The light blinking on and off just above it illuminated a stick figure image of their family. As the ornament turned it revealed an identical image, only on the this side Michelangelo held a teddy bear.

There was a slight pang in Splinter's chest as he wished he could give them more, for so many of their dreams were small. At least they would be for a human; to bask in the sun, to make friends, to live out in the open. He was grateful there were four of them and that they could be one another's companion. He smiled again, knowing Michelangelo wouldn't complain about the bear. Hopefully he'd be too excited with what he did get. Which reminded him...

Splinter stood and approached the tiny tree, reaching into his pocket to place the small silver shuriken at the top. The long pine needles that served as the treetop poked through the tiny hole in the center of the weapon, surprisingly not folding over as he anticipated, rather standing strong.

"Wow, that's a cool star, Father." Leo observed.

"Indeed," Splinter affirmed as he reclaimed his seat. "I think it bears some significance this holiday. Now, my sons, close your eyes and get some rest, for Mr. Claus cannot come until you've gone to sleep."

The lair was frigid and Splinter knew better than to remain still for too long, that without movement the chill against his clawed feet and paws would worsen. He worried for his reptilian sons as well, pulling their blankets down over them and tucking the edges under their bodies. He hadn't meant to doze off either, especially on such an important night.

The chubby elf wasn't supposed to exist, let alone be in the sewers. But when the man placing packages under their tiny tree looked at him he was green with a shell peeking out the collar of his suit. Splinter approached the turtle-Santa. "I thought you were human. How is this-"

When the turtle did not answer, simply turned back to his work Splinter realized he was dreaming. But he wasn't supposed to be. He had a task to do. What was it?

His mind fought to recall his duty, but he kept slipping farther into sleep. He was following turtle-Santa around New York, watching him dig in dumpsters outside grocery stores, a bookstore, a department store and and two electronics shops. Didn't Santa have elves for this sort of thing? Wasn't that how the myths went? Why would he be climbing in and out of dumpsters? This was absurd. Wake up Hamato Yoshi, you have a job to do!

Thankfully, one of his sons stirred, the jostling at last dragging him back to reality. He opened an eye to find Raphael rolling over, one arm draped over his eyes as he let out a sleepy grumble. Splinter smiled, wondering what sort of dream would bring complaints from the boy even in his sleep. Regardless, now that he was awake he remembered, he still needed to be Santa! How long had he slept?

He shifted Michelangelo's head from his leg onto a pillow and quickly made his way to his room to retrieve the four gifts wrapped in newspaper, tied with kite string and labeled with colored construction paper. But when he went to place them under the tree he stopped, his mouth falling open at sight of five packages nestled among the dropping branches.

His heart picked up pace at the idea of someone having been in their home. And who? Who would leave gifts for each of them? He knelt down to place his presents among them. They were wrapped with real paper. Though not well. There was tape all over the princess print. Princesses? Three packages were simply a grocery bag tied shut. Splinter reached for one and sat back on his haunches. There was no label on it. He turned the bag about until an orange yard sale dot caught his eye. He put the bag down, reaching for a princess package. This one held a blue dot, a third a red dot, the fourth a purple. The last one had a good bow stuck to the side.

"Oh!!! Oh it's Christmas morning! Santa came! He-" Michelangelo couldn't finish speaking as a coughing fit overtook him. He sat upright, nonetheless smiling wide as he pointed beneath the tree. "That one has an orange-" he paused to cough and Splinter reached for the bag, handing it to his son.

As Michelangelo accepted the gift Splinter wondered if he shouldn't have checked to see what was inside it first. But his thoughts were too late as his son ripped the bag in half, revealing a worn button-eyed patchwork teddy bear.

"I'll call him Button Eyes, no no, I'll call him Patch Face, no no-"

"Can you call him Shutty Face? I'm tryin' ta' sleep." Raphael groused, tugging his blanket up over his head.

Michelangelo ignored his brother. "Thank you Santa!" His blue eyes widened. "Oh! I'll call him Santa!"

"Look, there's one with a blue dot. I bet that one is yours, Leo." Donatello reached under the tree picking up the small flat package and handing it to his big brother.

"I think this one is yours, Donnie. It has a purple dot." Leo's brow furrowed as he picked up the box shaped package. "Does Santa think we're girls? Why'd he wrap mine and yours in princesses? And whatever this is, Donnie, it's heavy."

Splinter stroked the long fur under his chin. There were five packages and five in their family. Yet as Leonardo opened a tattered comic book and Donatello a box of random electronic gizmos, his gaze shifted towards Raphael's blanket-covered shell. Surely the boy hadn't- but there were five packages and one was clearly for him.

"I bet this one is yours, Dad!" Michelangelo pushed the bag with the gold bow toward him.

"Thank you, my son." He accepted the grocery bag but hesitated to open it. "Raphael, you are missing Christmas morning. There are gifts here for you, perhaps you would like to open them?"

Raphael let out a groan then answered him without looking up from the cover of his blanket. "I'm not feelin so great, Dad. I'm real tired. Can I wait till later?"

Splinter wasn't satisfied with this outcome and was ready to press the issue when he realized his sons were opening the gifts it had taken him all year to find for them.

"What're these things?" Michelangelo stood up swinging his gifts around his head like whirring helicopter blades.

"Cool! I got a sword!" Leonardo swiped at the air.

At this Raphael peeked from his blanket. The boys eyes were bleary but Splinter couldn't tell if he was simply tired or coming down with Michelangelo's illness. He didn't have time to ponder as Leo struck Michelangelo's shell at the same time his youngest hit his eldest in the head with a nunchaku. As he moved to disarm them Donatello whirled around, accidentally whacking Splinter across the shoulders as he exclaimed, "Why'd I get a stick?"

"Everyone stop!" Splinter demanded. "Lower your weapons." He sighed. He was about to lecture them when he saw Raphael opening his sai.

His sons fingers curled around the handles, a tired but sincere smile crossing his face. He looked at Splinter then, a knowing gleam in his eyes. "Santa did good this year. Didn't he?" He motioned to the package by Splinter's feet. "What'd you get?"

Splinter reached down pulling the knot from the plastic handles of the bag. As he looked down in the bag his eyes filled. Milk. Eggs. Bread. He almost laughed because there were more donuts... and three different kinds of cheese. When he looked up, his eyes falling right back on Raphael, his son was opening the fifth package. His gift.

A red knit scarf.

 


End file.
